What He Found There
by Czar of the Geegaws
Summary: Going back to the apartment has become a bit more dangerous than Henry would've liked.


There was red writing (_Is it blood? Looks kinda like..._) on the door at the end of the spiral staircase. Red, sanguinary writing he didn't understand -- didn't want to understand. It contrasted heavily with the dirty, off-white door, like it was only the vivid color so it would be burned into his memory forever. He realized this, knew that as long as he lived he wouldn't forget that damned writing.

"Henry, are you okay?"

Henry snapped to attention, he hadn't even realized that his hand was on the door handle. For a moment there, he had felt like he was (_Not drowning. Conscious. Aware?_) awake. "I'm fine." Then he looked at her, Eileen with the battered face. Eileen with the broken arm and limp. Eileen with the goddamn _will_ to fight despite the injuries. Something in his chest hitched. "I've got to go back to the apartment, Eileen. Just for a minute."

She bit her lip and nodded, not wanting to be alone but understanding. Then he led her back up the stairwell; ignoring the fact that even though they had just been going down there was no ground, ignoring the sticky feeling that this staircase hung on nothing. Was nothing. A little way up a small path deviated off the stairs, at the end of this path there was a hole in a broken wall.

It was through this hole Henry climbed, entirely too aware that it fell into the chasm of nothing below.

The tunnel in the hole was long and dark, with slimy walls and a heavy scent of rot. Fingers groped at the walls for purchase, nails tearing away grime and palms sliding along the slick surfaces with a _thhft_ sound. Clenching his jaw, Henry dug the soles of his shoes into the tunnel walls and propped his elbows up under him, effectively lodging his shoulders against the roof. He hated the first incline.

Using his feet to push him roughly up and forward -- with his elbows occasionally jamming into the walls to catch himself from slipping -- he struggled his way up the tunnel, letting out a sigh of relief when the decline finally came. He knew everything following would be easy -- only twisting into nothing, and he was obscenely used to nothing.

After what seemed like forever, he saw the pale yellow halo of light that announced the tunnel's end. Felt the musty and fleshy smelling draft brush across his face, confirming the exit lying just ahead. Crawling forward, Henry's mind began to race -- going back to the apartment had become _dangerous_. He hoped to all Gods that he had brought that stupid candle, or at least had a medallion on him. Maybe...maybe he'd get lucky and there wouldn't be anything mewling inside his fridge, wouldn't be something (_Me, won't be me._) mumbling outside his door. No children in his closet. No ghost struggling to get out of his wall.

He hoped against hope that it would be completely normal when he slipped out of the hole at the end.

He woke up. Woke up to heavy, thick air and crying. _Crying_ from somewhere in his apartment. Henry shuddered and swung his legs off the bed. He was out in the hallway a few moments after he had found the candle -- nearly snapped in half -- in his pocket. Taking in a shuddering breath, he listened as the crying got louder and louder and then suddenly it felt like somebody was driving nails into his head and then ripping them out again. Like somebody was goring his thumbs into his eye sockets to press at the brain tissue behind them. Feeling sick, he looked around the small room, quickly locating the source of the --

"Oh _God_." His hand flew up to cover his mouth, eyes widening at the sight of rows of infant like bodies writhing in the wall above the storage chest. The crying got louder when the many pairs of eyes finally saw him, their struggling becoming faster and harder, as if they were going to claw and gnaw and rip at him once they got out of the wall. Henry stumbled backwards, hands digging through his pockets for a lighter, eyes never leaving the shriveled gray bodies with the pulsing red and blue veins that seemed to glow beneath their skin.

Then he had it in his hand and he lit the candle, setting it down just in front of the chest. He sat back for a moment, watching the flame burn the candle down much too fast for any normal candle. _It's going to die out soon_, his head told him, so he glanced back up at the wall. Too many eyes. All glaring and staring and probably -- oh _GOD_ -- thinking about killing him. About drilling holes into his skull with their little fingers and ripping, ripping until the bone fell away and --

They died. Gray bodies caving in on themselves and small, too-human heads falling limply forward. He watched in sick fascination as the wall took them back, pulled them back into the paint and plaster and taking them back to whatever twisted hell they came from. Sucking in a breath, Henry stood, opened the chest and put away the various things he'd collected in the forest that he doubt he'd need.

But he took out an extra medallion (_Just in case_.) before going into the bloody storage room and back through the hole. The long, dark tunnel that fell out onto the broken pathway on the nothing staircase.

Once he had stood up and brushed himself off absent mindedly, Henry looked for a moment at Eileen. Just stared. At the bandage, at the bruises, at the sling, at everything.

Her face took on a slightly worried expression. "Did something happen -- is something wrong?" Then almost as an after thought, "Are you okay?"

Henry only gave her a little smile and nodded vaguely in the direction of the marked door. "We'd better get going." And so they did.


End file.
